


Fool for you (and the things you do)

by acquiescence



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Feminization, M/M, Rimming, Where We Are Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:43:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acquiescence/pseuds/acquiescence
Summary: “I feel like we’re breaking up soon. Can’t even stand to sleep next to each other anymore. Christ.” Harry hisses, breaking the silence between them.-The one in which Niall signs Zayn and Harry up for couple’s counselling, saying it’s the most rational thing to do with their current condition.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the short span of time after WWA tour and pre-OTRA. In addition, Perrie wasn't also existent in this because I didn't wanna go through that mess and further complicate the story line.
> 
> Title was taken from Zayn, (obviously) as you may see hints of it on the fic. I listened heavily to Mind of Mine in the creation of this one so here you go.

 

When Harry was eight, he had the worst asthma attack that he could ever remember in his short life. It sent his sister into panic and his mom into a distress, rushing him to the hospital after coming home looking poorly and short of breath. His breathing was ragged and every time he does, there’s a shrilling noise in time with his inhales, to which his mother instantly caught up on and there she clasped her son’s face into her hands, checking up on him. Harry just gave her a weak smile, face pale as he kissed his mom’s cheek to say hello upon his arrival from school.

The next thing he remembered was being laid down in a hospital bed with different tubes attached to his body, his breathing still difficult and he figured out that maybe that’s what those are for.

He looked down as his eyes tried to adjust from the sudden shock of lights and saw his mother grasping right hand tightly, seated next to his bed. She slowly came back to her senses after having fallen asleep next to him, startled awake by Harry’s small movements.

“Hey mum,” Harry greeted her, weakly.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Anne cautioned him pointedly, clutching his hand tighter and crying silently on her seat. “You scared the life out of me.”

-

 “How many times do I have to remind you to smoke on the fucking balcony, Z?” Harry yells from the doorway, crouching down to remove his boots and setting them in place on the racks. He coughs upon unlocking the front door, welcomed by the haze and the obnoxious smell of Zayn’s rollups wafting in the air inside their shared apartment. By now he thinks he should be acclimated to it, being with Zayn for two and a half years now and he’s been kissing him longer than that, tasting of smoke and a hint of something sweeter on his lips.

Harry initially thought it was hot—Zayn smoking—as he recalls their first encounter in a dumpster outside Fountain Studios when he stumbled upon Zayn sucking on a cigarette, blowing puffs of smoke into the air as he stared into a distance with the same smolder that manages to uncentre Harry most times. He happened to be just passing by, didn’t really want to disturb Zayn’s peace but the all the smoke sent him into a coughing fit that somehow got Zayn’s attention, putting out his cigarette in haste and walking over to Harry who was coughing violently into his fist like his life depended on it, visibly out of breath.

“Smoke bother you that much, babe?” Zayn patted his back soothingly, leading him away from the dumpster where it was still foggy with smoke.

Moving in with him only made him hate his habit of smoking more.

As Harry pads into the living room, Zayn comes into the view, sitting on the couch in his joggers with a rollup dangling between his fingers, still unmoving. He looks obscene like that, just sat there looking like he’s ready to have Harry on his lap and just do whatever he wants with him but Harry shakes away the thought, huffing in annoyance instead. He shoots Zayn a look and he only shrugs nonchalantly, blowing another ring of smoke just to piss Harry off more.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate.” Harry starts to cough now, his face scrunching up in discomfort as he tries to open their windows as fast as he can to let some air in.

“So I’m reduced to mate now, eh? Thought last night I was Daddy.” Zayn retorts from around the last of the joint he’s smoking, tipping his chin up only to blow out the more smoke and flinging the butt on the ashtray on his lap once he finishes.

Harry can feel his face heat up as the memories of last night come surging in, so he faces away from him and makes a show of retrieving items from the cupboards above the sink, contemplating on his head whether Zayn deserves to be served a full English breakfast after being such shit this morning. Harry’s fishing out a can of button mushrooms, lost in his head when he feels Zayn’s arms wind around his waist and he stills on his feet, tries to concentrate on his irritation, can’t let Zayn win him over simply by this.

“ _I’m stronger than this,”_ he tells himself inside, concentrating on not getting turned on right now _._

 _“_ Shit!” Harry curses loudly when he drops the can, nearly hitting him square on the foot if he didn’t flinch as Zayn presses his hard cock against Harry’s bum firmly, making him feel everything and nothing all at once, sinking his teeth on Harry’s shoulder and leaving a mark just to fuck with him. Harry knows Zayn full well to recognize that this is one of his devices to get Harry to soften towards him, but today Harry decides that he’s having none of it.

Harry disentangles himself from Zayn’s hold and hurriedly retrieves his gym bag, much to Zayn’s dismay and slams the door shut and loud enough to let Zayn know that he’s gone.

 

When Harry returns home later that night, he doesn’t sleep on his and Zayn’s bed where he usually does and takes it upon himself to sleep on the couch. It can’t be comfortable as their wide bed but he thinks sleeping beside a man you can’t stand can’t be more comfortable either, so he lays claim to the couch in the living room where he still has to fold his legs a little just so he can fit into it and sleep.

He pulls out a pillow from under his hips and embraces it tightly, willing his mind not to stray too far and overthink at this time of the night. He’s going to work himself up again into a stupor and he knows it. He hates it, sometimes, how shit he and Zayn are at communicating that he wonders how did they even go this far, together now for almost three years with the way they are. Maybe it’s the intensity of work that both had them bent out of shape that’s got them fighting so much lately, spending long months on tour and everything’s becoming repetitive now. He wonders when they’ll ever get a full rest that they all crave after working non-stop for four years. Only a few more promotional television appearances to tape and they’re off to their two-month break before touring starts again. Before he can even wrap his mind around all the numbers that they will encounter for the next tour (stadium capacity, miles away from home, days on the road), Harry falls asleep.

It's already two in the afternoon when Harry rouses from his sleep, a little bit groggy from his dream as he swipes at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He sits up properly on the couch and throws the pillow at the other end, letting himself slowly wake up, his senses coming alive until everything went to shit.

“You just can’t fuck off somewhere else when you don’t want to talk, Harry.” Zayn calls out from where he’s sat on the floor petting Harley between his legs, intentionally avoiding his gaze. The first thing Harry notices is Zayn’s state of undress, just clad in a pair of tiny shorts that must be Harry’s.

“Good Morning to you too, m’love.” Harry spits back sarcastically, already annoyed. One of the things he hates the most is getting yelled at right when he just woke up. Give him a fucking break.

“Just let me know next time when you’re fucking off to LA again just so I have a clue.” Harry senses the venom in Zayn’s words now, harsh and straight into acid. He hasn’t been awake for more than ten minutes but he can already conclude that he absolutely detests this day.

“I would need coffee first before I can absorb all the bullshit you’re spewing right now.” Harry gets up from where he’s seated to head into the kitchen to make his coffee, trying not to let everything he just heard into his head. Zayn lets out an angered, “Walk away from me again, alright!” his hands up in the air in exasperation. Harley must have sensed the growing tension between the boys and gets up too, walking away towards the garden so he can roll over the grass happily.

-

Zayn hates it when Harry overdoes their meals, cooking up more than enough for the both of them that some of the leftovers just go bad in the fridge. It’s a waste, Zayn thinks.

Harry hates how Zayn never shares with him his writings now, as much as he is open to Shahid and MYKL and the other boys. It’s not like he would sneer at it, or steal it. It’s just that Harry feels like Zayn shouldn’t keep these things away from him given that they do the same for a living and if one thing, they could help each other out and rule the fucking world because honestly, _they could._

Zayn hates how much Harry loves going to LA, obsessed with all the sun that he can never get from sullen England skies. He hates to admit but sometimes he gets jealous that LA gets to keep Harry for a while yet Zayn has to make do with the few days that they can spend together in the same bed when they’re off tour. Harry spends a considerable time in LA when he and Zayn are not together, in between tours and all the breaks that they can get from their busy schedules.

Harry, in return, hates how Zayn never comes to LA with him. Zayn keeps on telling him that he doesn’t get why he spends more time away from their family when that’s what they do on tour, be on the other side of the world. As a family-oriented person that Zayn is, he would revel in the short days that he can spend back home with his family where he feels his footing again, grounding him on his feet. He doesn’t get the whole appeal of LA to Harry that’s why he never goes with him, just lets him go on his own as long as he knows to come back to Zayn at the end of the day.

Zayn hates how flighty Harry is, sometimes. How much he can never stay in one place too long otherwise he gets antsy and leaves.

Harry hates how Zayn calls him _princess_ sometimes when they fuck, Zayn grabbing a fistful of Harry’s curls, tugging on it roughly while pounding into him and Harry comes shortly. _Easy._ Harry hates it because he comes too fast without Zayn even getting a hand around him.

But none of them says anything.

It’s something that’s left unspoken between the two of them, a time bomb waiting to explode on their faces once it’s prompted. Instead, they fight over the stupidest and littlest of things, projecting their pent-up emotions toward petty fights.

 Zayn throws a strop when Harry throws out leftovers because hell, he doesn’t even need to cook that much for the both of them and how much of a waste it was, reminding him that some people in other parts of the world are starving. On the other hand, Harry nearly threw the cigarette butts littered across their coffee table into Zayn’s face in rage, complaining how he doesn’t know how to clean up after himself when there are several trashcans stationed around their apartment.

There’s not a day when they don’t bicker and that’s _HarryandZayn_ now, one second from punching each other but sometimes they had to let it slide, because they can’t carry it on elsewhere. There’s a television appearance they have to make for Band Aid 30 in a couple of days where they boys are going to talk about their charity single.

 

Harry has never looked so livid in an interview.

He’s Harry Styles, the one whose smile’s stuck to his face, dimples carved into his cheeks and the easily identified member of the band. He has gotten used to having all the attention trained on him like there’s no other person in the band but Harry has learned how to stay in the background, unspeaking but somehow still involved to avoid overshadowing the other lads, and because he’s gotten sick of all the unwanted attention he’s been given.

He’s not meant to act like this, looking like he’s five seconds away from punching Zayn if he weren’t looking so bloody breathtaking wearing his hair down, the longest it has ever gotten, almost touching his shoulders and the ends starting to curl away from his face.

Harry knows they’re on film right now, every word that comes out of their mouth caught on camera and he’s _losing_ , unable to keep his anger control that he’s practically glaring at Zayn who’s stood to his right, miraculously indulging the interviewer with what he has to say about the charity event, a pocketful of words more than he usually says on basic interviews that require his presence as a member of a boyband.

Zayn looks equally miserable, his body turned away from Harry while he actively avoids his gaze even though they’re not even a meter apart from each other. He picks at the hem of his navy blue jumper, his fingers keen on touching Harry to keep him grounded, to remind him that he can do his sulking once this bloody interview is over.

The air is tense after the interview, the three other boys sharing an apologetic look after noticing Zayn and Harry’s distance in the interview. Louis remembers a downcast Zayn after not being granted an hour with Harry during 1DDay whereas he also didn’t, (but that’s another story) and Louis claps him in the back laughing, telling him that the management’s only looking out for them because if they were given an hour together, it’d be spent on flirting and unnecessary whispering, forgetting the actual program of the show. Zayn almost agrees until Louis says that it’s not going to be very PG if it’s going to be them together, just a minute into the show and Zayn’s probably going to palm Harry’s ass absentmindedly like it’s a lamp and he’s wishing for the genie to come out. Zayn swats him on the chest and laughs along with him.

Liam sometimes wonders how Zayn and Harry do it, become angry at each other to the point of not acknowledging each other when they’re not even a meter apart, from what he’s seen on the interview they had earlier this morning, but still yearn to touch each other in some way. Liam thinks they must be _/that/_ in love.

Niall corners Harry after the interview once they were herded out of the studio, checking up on him and asking him what the fuck is up with the both of them.

“It’s nothing, Niall. Just drop it.” Harry sighs, the tension still poised on his shoulders. He adjusts the tie on his chest just so he doesn’t fidget, a lack of better thing to do with his hands when he’s agitated.

“You and I both know it’s not nothing, Haz.” Niall squeezes Harry’s shoulder, loops his arm around him and giving him a look of concern. “On the last day of tour last month I had to physically restrain Zayn from jumping on top of you on stage and now you don’t even acknowledge each other.”

Harry snickers feebly. How fast time flies.

They continue walking until they reach the Niall’s dressing room, Harry silently following Niall into the room. He faintly remembers how they once all shared a dressing room, space too little for five rowdy lads and almost like a warzone once they started getting ready, everyone puttering around and everything’s a mess around them. It’s a relief that they can now afford separate dressing rooms, allowing a little more space for them to breathe.

“I feel like we’re breaking up soon. Can’t even stand to sleep next to each other anymore. _Christ._ ” Harry hisses, breaking the silence between them. He hops on top of the dressing counter and sits there, as Niall gets comfortable on the recliner directly across from where he’s seated, lifting both of his feet up to prop them against the arm of the chair. He’s managed to grab two cans of soda and throws one at Harry, catching it without fail.

“Don’t say it like that, mate.” Niall winces a bit as he takes a big gulp from his can, probably from being choked up a little.

“I’ve never felt so distant with him in the years that we are together more than now.” Harry admits like it’s defeat, visibly disconcerted. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. We’ve been having the stupidest of fights lately.”

“We either talk shit after, or ignore the fucking elephant in the room. I just-“ he gets distracted by the change in Niall’s features, suddenly grins widely like something in his head clicked like a _fucking eureka!_ moment and he blurts out, “I’ve got a brilliant idea, mate.”

-

It was all Niall’s doing to sign Zayn and Harry up for couple’s counselling, saying it’s the most rational thing to do with their current condition. Despite protests from both sides, the other boys promised to haul their asses out of their apartment and make sure they’re attending their appointment, whether tomorrow’s the end of the world or whatever jacked up reason they would come up with. Zayn even gets a call from his mother that night, just a “gentle nudge, sunshine” coming from her to make her stubborn son go.

“A bomb could drop beside you and you still wouldn’t have waken up, _jesus.”_ Harry gripes once they’re out the door, brows knitted together in irritation. Zayn has made them twenty minutes late for their appointment from him waking up late and moving so slow like he has all the fucking time in the world. They pile into the back of the car and both Niall and Louis acknowledges them by nodding at their direction with a faint hint of worry, wary of the squabbling prior to their entry in the car.

“You could’ve left without me, y’know.” Zayn responds unapologetically, scooting closer to the window and massaging his temples gently, as though his head’s going to explode any time soon.

“What’s the fucking point? We have to do this together, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I could have fucking followed!”

Louis doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s voice raises a tinge, sharing a pointed look with Niall. In response, he fiddles with the radio and turns it on, turning up the volume of the music loud enough to drown out all the noises from the back and just enough to get them to shut up.

Despite the spacious back seat, Zayn and Harry are sat on the opposite ends of the backseat, both clinging to the windows like their lives are tethered to it. Niall thinks he could wedge Liam and her sisters between the space, judging how far they are trying to sit away from each other.

-

Once they arrive inside the doctor’s office Harry apologizes to her genuinely and shakes her hand, mumbling excuses as he and Zayn took the opposite ends of the couch again across from where the therapist is seated. One might even think they’re not even acquainted with their actions.

It’s a small monochromatic office, walls lined with a number of paintings that Zayn found himself fixated to.

“Hello boys, I’m Dr. Pettersen.” She smiles at them a little, quickly examining each boy as she takes her seat again. “Harry and Zayn, right?”

Both boys nod in unison.

Zayn retrieves a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, tapping his jeans in search for the lighter. Before he even succeeds, Harry stands up and drops down next to him, plucking away the cigarette from his hands with a hiss of “are you fucking kidding me?” as he shakes his head in disbelief. Zayn tries to steal it back and whacks Harry in the chest in retaliation, cursing under his breath, _“fucking hell.”_

“Even here, really? Didn’t I tell you a million times I hate it when you smoke because I can’t bloody breathe?” Harry snaps now, losing his composure in front of the doctor because he’s so tired of going through the same conversation again. Zayn, on the other hand, feigns nonchalance but Dr. Pettersen observes that he doesn’t attempt anymore in getting another stick of cigarette from his pocket. She doesn’t interfere with the both of them _yet,_ just taking quick notes of their behavior.

“Now that we’re on the subject of hateful things, can I just say that I hate it when you fuck off to LA most times, how fucking flighty you are.”

“It’s just my nature, Z! I can’t keep confining myself here where I can’t even go out sometimes because of how miserable the weather is!”

“Forces you to spend time with me, innit? How hard would that fucking be?”

“All you ever do is get high and smoke! I just-“ Dr. Pettersen coughs pointedly at them and that sets them apart, Harry scooting away to keep his distance from Zayn. He never knew he could be suffocated this much just by sitting so close to someone.

“Okay lads, look here.” Dr. Pettersen hands them two clipboards and pens for each of them, setting them on their laps. “List down all the things you hate about it each other so you can let it all out.”

Zayn almost objects until Dr. Pettersen follows up, “The other won’t have to know, don’t worry.”

Both boys take a little while writings their lists, as Dr.Pettersen continuously takes note on her own clipboard. At one point, Zayn scoots close to peek over Harry’s list but fails miserably, shielding it against his chest before muttering, “Fuck’s sake, Zayn!” and transferring to the sofa on Zayn’s farthest right as he goes on with his list.

Dr. Pettersen then orders them to face each other despite the obvious distance and Harry hesitates, avoiding to even look Zayn directly in the eyes. Zayn doesn’t want to, either, but Dr. Pettersen walks over to him (as he is the closest proximity to her) and physically jostles him to get him to turn to Harry.

“Now do tell what you hate most about each other.”

“I thought we weren’t going to!” Harry protests, turning over his clipboard on his lap as though he refuses to read from his list. Now he dreads how honest he became in writing down his woes, maybe _too honest_ that he might even need to exclude some parts.

Dr. Pettersen must have been a mind reader, as he warns the boys not to leave out any parts they have written just before he asks Harry to sit close to Zayn. Zayn volunteers to read his list first because he simply just doesn’t care anymore.

“Right, so we can get this over with.” Zayn shifts in his seat, as though he’s trying to get comfortable and he then leans back and crosses his leg on top of the other. Harry knows this is how Zayn acts when he tries not to show he’s nervous, shifting so much in his seat unnecessarily and probably itching for a smoke right now. After several years of knowing Zayn, he feels like he knows him inside out more than he knows himself.

“I hate it when Harry…” He trails off, unsure of which to say first.

“Talk to him, Zayn. Not me.” Dr. Pettersen reminds him, her face relaxing into an indistinct fond.

“I hate it when you always have to remind me things over and over like I’m a child.” Zayn lets out, trying to establish eye contact but once he looks up from his clipboard he sees Harry’s face fall. “I know I tend to forget stuff, like my boots on the floor and the cigarette butts all over the place but I swear to God it’s not for you to find out. Like, I’m not doing it to piss you off.” He reaches for Harry’s hand just so he could feel him, running his thumb over his knuckles gently and Harry misses how gentle Zayn can be.

“I hate it how you see me like a fucking nuisance at times.” Harry starts off, picking to begin at the bottom of his list. “I only remind your stubborn ass over and over because you get so occupied sometimes you forget to eat.”

“I do not!” Zayn disagrees, pulling his hand back like he’s been burned and he’s ready to shoot back again if it weren’t from the look on Dr. Pettersen’s face.

“I only nag you to get you to do it. I hate how you forget to take care of yourself sometimes. When we’re not together, I worry myself sick just thinking about you, if you’ve eaten, or what. That’s why I kept giving you water bottles on stage so you don’t become dehydrated, only you fuckin’ fling it away sometimes.”

Zayn fondly remembers all those times Harry checks up on him onstage and races him sometimes to get him his bottle, jumping over the railings of their stage set-up just to beat him to it. It makes Zayn feel a like a child, inept almost, so he doesn’t indulge him, not in front of hordes of people.

“I hate that you doubt me most times. I get that we both grew up on the road and you saw how frequently I slept with people before, all mindless because I was young and naïve. I was gravely intimidated by commitment.” He reaches out for Harry again, caressing the side of his thigh and leaves his hand there. “But trust me when I say I woudn’t need people on the side now that I have you.”

“You know how much I love you and I will always want to get my hands on you, because this is how we best centre each other, how we ground ourselves together. I love having sex with you because that’s when I feel the closest to you, the feel of you wrapping your world around me and I want that, Haz. I want it all the time.”

Harry hangs his head low, not even reading from his list now but avoids Zayn’s eyes as he counters him.

“I get that, but most of the time it doesn’t feel like it.” Harry confesses. “Got me thinking you’re only with me because of my body.”

Zayn flushes as all the memories of them having sex come surging back in, but he wills himself to remain silent. He can’t deny it though, how much he adores Harry’s body but that’s just a plus; How good he is in bed and knowing how to use his hands, his tongue and _oh_ _those sinful_ lips. Zayn closes his eyes briefly to get himself to concentrate.

“All the times that I was trying to make a conversation with you to talk about our problems, it’s either you ignore me or try to fuck me against any given surface.”

Dr. Pettersen just eyes them both from her seat, still keen on observing the two’s interactions.

 _“Babe.”_ Zayn relents, “That’s not true. I love you because you’re _you._ I like touching you all the time because it lets me know you’re there, something as simple as ruffling your hair because I know you enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong, I like having sex with you because _hey_ , we’re fucking amazing together but what I enjoy the most are the things that go before and after.”

He blushes a little while Harry just rolls his eyes.

“The way you try to take off your skintight jeans and the fact that you sometimes almost topple over in haste, I’ll have you know I’m fucking endeared. I love to wake up next to you, with your hair fanned out on our pillow and I can’t help myself but to kiss you for how fucking beautiful you are and wake you up with my-“ Harry widens his eyes at Zayn to signal him, abruptly cutting himself off, as Harry knows where this will go. Zayn can’t bring himself to care anymore, Dr. Pettersen must have heard worse but he just brings it down a notch. “-wake you up the way you deserved to be woken up. I could spend a day with you in bed, just holding you close and I still would have the time of my life, you know?”

He reaches out to Harry again, gripping both his hands now and lacing their fingers. Harry just stares, but his face softens somehow.

“We’re sat here in this clinic for couples counselling, on the verge of breaking up but I still feel the need to touch you, holding you in my hands because it hits me now that I can’t ever let you go. Sometimes I lose myself just merely by looking at you and it hits me how much I love you.” Zayn sounded a little choked up, looking up at Harry.

They remain silent as they stare at each other for a beat or two, until Harry closes the gap between them and kisses him fervently. Zayn thinks his lips might be bleeding with how eagerly they move together.

Just like that, both boys have forgotten that they’re in the presence of someone else, losing themselves in the moment as Zayn cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, long enough now to reach his shoulder and hauls him on top of his lap as they continue to kiss and Zayn thinks, _I love you_ , _I love you_ as the words exhaust itself on his head.

Both of them pull back to gasp for air as Harry mouths, “Take me home,” his breath hot on Zayn’s neck and he obliges, quickly saying their halfhearted goodbyes to Dr. Pettersen and clambering onto their car.

Zayn mentally takes note of thanking Niall and Louis later for smartening up and sending them a larger car to pick them up this time, the one that has a partition dividing the passenger and driver’s seat.

Harry instantly gets on his knees once they’re inside the car and paws at Zayn’s cock, looking up at Zayn’s eyes with _want_ and Zayn can only tip Harry’s chin up to kiss him again, once, _twice_ before he lets Harry have his way with him. Harry’s glad Zayn’s only wearing joggers this morning that he only has to pull it down, his cock springing free from its confines and Harry immediately closes his mouth around the head, working his mouth around him. Harry wraps a big hand around Zayn’s cock and fists it with finesse, which is a surprise to him because Harry gets sloppy when he’s eager, but now his fingers are firm, consistently tight around Zayn’s cock before he replaces his it with his mouth. _He’s so beautiful_ , Zayn thinks. _And fucking mine._

Zayn unconsciously pulls on Harry’s hair, muttering _“fuck”_ like a litany when he feels Harry takes him deeper, this throat fluttering around him and Zayn feels as though all the nerves in his body was set ablaze and he can feel every fucking thing, already on the edge. “Fuck Harry.” He grunts, noticing the way Harry breathes through his nose as his airways become constricted, trying to suppress his choking on Zayn’s cock.

Harry pulls his mouth away, smiling up a little at Zayn with drool on the corner of his mouth, still working Zayn over with his hand and he looks _ruined,_ hair all over the place and there are tears threatening to spill over. Zayn can’t help but to peck him again on the mouth, gripping his face on his hands tightly and crashing their mouths together, hot and messy until Zayn pulls away to card his fingers through Harry’s hair, to soothe him.

Harry momentarily gets distracted and notices they’re minutes away from home, so he lets Zayn fuck his mouth with abandon until he comes in his mouth, Harry swallowing it all down and Zayn has to bring him into his lap, remembering to wipe Harry’s tears away with the pads of this thumbs.

Zayn’s grateful that the boys remembered to give them a driver because they would have caused a car crash if they had just done that while driving.

As they get to the front door, Harry’s even more eager to get off as he already tries to unbutton his jeans without a care in the world, pushing Zayn inside once he got the door open.  Harry complains that he doesn’t even want to climb up to their room anymore until Zayn has to physically manhandle him, dropping him down the bed and they both undress in haste to get to touch each other’s body.

Harry’s now spread out on the bed, in between Zayn’s legs, rubbing himself against the beddings so he could get some friction and whimpers in a throaty voice, “Fuck me.”

And Zayn does, bouncing Harry on his cock while Zayn bites on Harry’s nipples, closing his mouth around a nub and swirls his tongue around it. Zayn drives into him hard, fucking up into Harry’s ass with abandon and Harry’s eyes roll at the back of his head because it’s so _fucking good._

He reaches around Harry to cup both of his ass, lifting him off his cock halfway and slamming back in, startling him and making Harry bite into his shoulder to muffle his moans completely because he’s gone, so fucking gone that he lets Zayn use him, restraint be damned.

Zayn turns them over so that Harry’s on his hands and knees, his knees visibly bucking below him that he collapses on his elbows, “Please.”

“Hold on, babe.” Zayn lines himself up behind Harry, grabbing his cock at the base and rubbing the tip of his dick over Harry’s rim but he doesn’t push, spreading his pre-come around his hole so the slide is nice, so wet.

“Fuck, Zayn. Please.” Harry pants, his fingers clawing at the bed sheets under them and Zayn knows he’s almost there. He’s not even making an effort to hold himself up anymore, completely splayed out on the bed, ass up in the air and so, so open for Zayn.

He pushes his fingers into Harry’s hole, two, scissoring them as Harry writhes beneath him, ruts himself impetuously against the bed when Zayn licks around his fingers before drawing them out completely, his tongue doing all the work and fucking into his hole deeper.

Harry’s thighs begins to shake when Zayn alternates his fingers and tongue, the crease of his ass wet from spit, trailing behind his balls already.

“Zayn, I’m gonn-a,”

Zayn backs away and grabs Harry’s hips, plunges into him deep and hard that Zayn’s fingers dig into his hips it hurts, “Come for me, _princess._ ” Zayn continues to push into him from behind ruthlessly, kissing the top of Harry’s spine until Harry’s coming in spurts beneath the both of them, letting the orgasm wash over Harry.

Zayn gently pulls out of him once Harry’s breathing evened out, despite not having come yet.

Harry crawls in between Zayn’s legs and kisses his inner thighs, a silent _thank you_ to him before he tosses Zayn off and aims it on his face, his hand picking up the pace when Zayn’s hips begin to stutter and he’s coming, Harry darting out his tongue to catch Zayn’s spunk before he licks around his mouth and his hands clean.

Harry is a fucking mess right now, with Zayn’s come all over his face and it’s so fucking dirty, should look so disgusting but Harry still manages to look angelic through it all, and Zayn couldn’t stop himself as he cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, gathering them up into a bun and securing it with a black elastic that he found on top of the bedside table.

“You okay, babe?”

“I’m ace.” Harry answers feebly, bringing the heel of his hand to wipe Zayn’s come dribbling down the sides of his mouth.

 

They fall asleep shortly wrapped around each other with Harry’s face buried in Zayn’s neck, both looking so spent and peaceful. When they wake up the next morning, they jointly cook breakfast in the kitchen and ate everything up, pecking each other on the lips between sips of coffee and mouthfuls of chocolate pancakes.

Once they’re done, Zayn bends Harry over the counter and licks him out leisurely, having him crying out loud enough for the neighbors to hear, even louder when they fucked twice as he lays Harry out on their kitchen table with his hands above his head, fucking him raw and roughly the way they never did before.

After coming down from their post-coital high, they cleaned the house together to put their energies into good use. Zayn remembers to move to the balcony and clean after himself up this time after his smoke break, picking up where he left off in sorting out their living room.

Harry emerges from their bedroom with their laundry basket in his hands, placing it on the floor for a minute and goes over to where Zayn is stood, putting his arms around his neck to kiss him as he tells him, “I love you, Z.”

Zayn beams at him, “I love you too, babe,” punctuating it with a kiss in response.

“Come to LA with me this Christmas?” Harry proposes as he traces Zayn’s bottom lip with his index before he pulls it away, replacing it with chaste kiss on his mouth and they both laugh a little, still locked in their embrace against the doorway.

Maybe a change of scenery for Christmas this time won’t be so bad, Zayn considers. _Hell,_ he doesn’t even celebrate it, but he surely wouldn’t mind spending it halfway across the globe with the love of his life.  

“Anything for you babe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in so long! Sorry for all the mistakes, I just kind of started writing again and finished, so this is fully unbeta'd. Inspired largely by the fic I read with a different pairing in the olden days (LiveJournal, lmao) and I just wanted to do my own take on it.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed it in the comments :)


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